Honor Owed
by Teardrop-Wolf-Amaya
Summary: Family life for an adventurer isn't always a good thing, for the adventurer or the ones they care about. In some ways, it was like any other family-small accidents, humorous times, passed down traditions. People you would easily take for granted are often the ones you miss the most. Everyone has honor that they earn in their lives, achieved by different means. Rated for blood.


A/N: Ok, I haven't written an actual story in over a year, and Skyrim provided just the perfect place to start up again. This story was meant to be more than it turned out, but hey, it's a start to writing again. Criticism is welcome, I feel like I really need the help to improve :) This was meant to provide a beginning intro to the characters, and I do really want to write more short stories involving them.

Also, thanks for taking the time to read this!

* * *

"When will mommy be back?"

"Soon,"

The little girl kicked her feet under her chair impatiently, "How soon?" she asked as she watched her caregiver work from a distance, her tail swaying in agitation. The front room of the cabin was somewhat spacious, offering a large hearth to cook over and sit near as the girl was, as well as an alchemy table at the far end in front of which a tall man bent over, his robes aglow with enchantments of unknown effects. Said man sighed heavily, pausing in mixing to pull back the hood of his robes and face the girl, his large, dark eyes narrowing ever further at her. "Why don't you go outside and play?" he offered, leaning his head toward the door suggestively. The bags under his slanted eyes provided an obvious indication to not only his growing age but also his exhaustion, a weariness undoubtedly caused by the small child herself.

The child put an effort into a pout, her scaly lips giving an obscure twist as her yellow eyes narrowed. "I can't," she stated "I have to wait for mommy." Her arms twisted into a poor attempt to cross themselves rebelliously. The fire nearby illuminated her dark green scales in an orange tint, providing an odd glow to her yellow undertones, ultimately finishing transforming her look of defiance into a cute and silly one. As if to prove her point, she brushed off the front of her dull, wine colored frock, small hands quickly returning to their grip on the underside of her wooden chair as if to anchor her to the spot. Her pout all but dissolved within the matter of a moment when all she received was a small chuckle and the shake of his head.

The Bosmers' attention was drawn back to the potion he was carefully and cautiously brewing, his gaze unable to stray for long from the unstable process. The liquid before him sizzled as he applied a flame, the mixture turning a rather foul shade of green as he added some more vampire dust. He hummed as he observed the change, carefully turning to the nearby table to make note of the occurrence. The mixture was becoming somewhat volatile as he added more things, demanding more and more of his concentration. He carefully took a sample of giant lichen and crushed it into the bowl, lowering the heat as bubbles began to rise. "Strange," he murmured under his breath, a very new shade of purple swirling to the surface as he stirred. He had never before some across the color before, and he could almost taste a breakthrough.

"Wow, so pretty!"

The loud exclamation sounded at his side without warning, and with a startled jump he had sent the unknown elixir into the air. A splash sounded, and when the man had managed to still his panicked mind, his eyes registered the small Argonian before him, her face and snout drenched in the strange violet hue. The equally surprised child had her eyes firmly shut, shoulders beginning to shake as the liquid dripped off her nose and began to thicken into goo and adhere to her scales. She began to sniffle, each one growing in intensity, her hands shuddering as they reached to wipe the gelatinous ooze away from her eyes. "It's ok," the man began quietly, fumbling around the alchemy lab for a cloth or some other material, not quite sure it even would be ok.

She threw her head back and sobbed, wailing as her tears began to streak through the viscous goo. The man fearfully tore a patch of cloth from his hood, unsure quite the effect the material would have. His terror grew when he could clearly hear the hazardous, jelly-like creation begin to make small sizzling sounds. He began to wipe the violet mass from her scales vigorously, and though he managed to remove the majority of it from the sniveling child's face, a few bits of the stuff stuck between her scales. He gently put a hand on her shoulder blade, urging the crying child toward the door, "Come on, let's get you washed off," he murmured in his best soothing tone. They exited the cabin, greeted by the still and foggy air of the world outside. The dark clouds loomed above, threatening to rain, but not a drop had begun to fall.

The river that ran just behind the cottage was deep, and the Bosmer made sure to have a firm grasp of her so that she was not swept away in the current, weak though it may be. He discarded his hood, using it as a cloth since he had not grabbed a bathing rag for this purpose. It mattered little to him, making and enchanting a new one was trivial when it came to the well being of the child under his care. He wet the hood in the river water, cleaning away more of the residual potion from the upset child, "Shh, shh, you're alright," he told her gently. She sniffled, slowly and cautiously opening her eyes when the strange stuff had been cleaned from the scales nearest them. Her tears still streaked, and her breath still hitched occasionally through her soft crying, but she had largely quieted down from the heart-wrenching sobs she had started with.

The man frowned as he finished cleaning the child completely of the gunk, and while he had freed her scales of all the potion remnants, her once dark-green scales now had the slightest purple tint down the front of her nose. He dipped the hood into the water once more, trying to rub away the tint, but to no avail. He supposed it would wear off eventually, and hoped it would not be permanent. He took his ruined hood, and the other hand he offered to the child with a small smile. The girl said nothing, and in fact no sounds escaped her except a small sniffle as she took his offered hand. A distant thunderclap sounded, and the man observed the sky above. "We'd better get inside, child," he urged, and the girl gave a small nod, her sore eyes downcast as her guardian lead the way back to the safety of the cottage.

He kept hold of her hand even as the door closed behind them, setting her at the table in the kitchen area. The afternoon had faded into early night, and he estimated that the sooner the kid was fed, the sooner she would sleep off the slightly traumatic experience. He gathered some basic ingredients from their stock, beginning to prepare dinner in silence. There was no mistaking the new somber feel of the home. He would have to forbid the child from nearing the alchemy lab again, so as to prevent a similar or worse situation. He glanced toward the table, observing the girl as she slumped over, head resting upon her crossed arms, obviously intent on staying upset for the remainder of the dwindling day. The hearth fire crackled beneath the cooking pot, ever eager to perform its job, and he gave the flames a small boost by tossing in another piece of firewood.

An idea came to him, and he ceased stirring the cooking pot for a moment, contemplating. He abandoned his task, climbing the ladder next to the table at which she sat. She lifted her head to watch him ascend, sore eyes questioning as he vanished into his bedroom on the loft. She lowered her head again, not taking much further interest and instead wanting to sulk. The moments dragged on, before she felt a heavy weight bear down on her head, covering her snout and eyes. She made a noise of protest, moving her arms up to grab whatever had been placed on her. She heard him chuckle slightly, and after a few tries the heavy object thunked onto the table and she mustered a pout, more tears threateningly perched in her eyes. The object before her was heavy, a helmet made of what appeared to be bone. The sides had grooves cut in them, large enough to fit a pair of elven ears or even her own curved horns.

"This helmet saved me a couple times," he commented, rapping his knuckles upon it briefly before he moved to retrieve their food, "Maybe in the future, it'll prevent any further accidents for you." She frowned, examining the helm that more resembled a skull, making a striking resemblance to a small dragon. The snout had jagged fangs still jutting down, and spikes along the very back. "It's made from a basilisk skull," he explained, filling two wooden bowls with stew, "My first kill, when I was a boy back in Valenwood." She used the sleeve of her frock to wipe her eyes, the tears all but gone and her focus on the mishap leaving her mind. Gingerly she prodded at the teeth, but they were firm in the skull, as were the thin, curved spikes along its back, one on each neck plate. She tried to lift it once more, grunting, but only managed to raise it an inch before it fell back down.

She gave a small smile, "Will it make me an adventurer, like mama?" she asked, hands hooking inside the skull's nostrils. He laughed then, full out, and set a bowl of stew beside the skull for her, "Sure, kid, if you want. It's yours," he smiled and sat beside her. She looked to the skull helm with a toothy grin, images running through her mind of delving into ruins and discovering treasure as her mother did. The thoughts made her pause, her grin slowly fading into a look of sadness once more, and she lowered her head. "I miss mommy," she muttered, fingers toying with the helm's fangs. He paused, eyeing first the somber child, and then the pathetic meal before him, the watery broth swirling with old bits of venison from who knows how long ago. He reached over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a small, awkward hug, "Me too, sweetie…Me too."

* * *

Rain pelted the roof angrily, lightning in the distance flashing across the dark of night. The storm alone was not what caused unrest in the man seated on his bed in the loft. The candle atop his bedside drawer was the only remaining light within the home, as even the remaining embers in the hearth had long since gone out. The letter in his hands was the cause of his inner turmoil. His eyes rereading the message brought no solace, as it had not all the other times he'd tried to see past the words. His nerves could find no rest in the night, and in fact they grew ever agitated as the days passed.

Even as his eyes all but devoured the inked writing before him, it brought him no closer to fully understanding the intentions of the woman behind the letter. The sharp corners of the writing and the hurriedly small strokes seemed to ever mock him. The dingy, torn page seemed far too delicate to handle, and the exact origin of the parchment was ambiguous, speaking ever more of where the letter had been written, or where the writer had gone to obtain such a document. His stomach turned, yet again scanning over the page.

_Faldir,_

_I have found a Dwemer ruin, and it will take me some time to thoroughly examine it. With any luck it will provide enough promising artifacts to sell. I had hoped I would have been home sooner than this. I hope my daughter fairs well? I can never express how grateful I am that I have you to keep her safe. I give you my word, as I have always, that I will return to you both in no more than two additional weeks. I have instructed the courier to give you an additional note and I hope that it reached you. It is…A precaution. If I don't return, I want you to read it to my daughter. Don't worry, my dear friend. I have no plans to die anytime soon._

_Safety and health to you both._

_-Yilari_

His scowl ever deepened. It had been a month since the letter reached him. Not once, in all the years that they had known each other, had she ever been late after giving her word. He lifted his eyes to the other note, still sealed upon his bedside drawer. They had never talked about the subject of death, even though it loomed heavily and quite often over them. The fact that she'd even sent the note was startling. He couldn't bear the thought of losing a friend to whom he'd given over a decade of his life. Especially when she had a daughter to come home to. He dismissed the thought hastily, throwing the note onto the bed.

His head shot up when he heard the creak of the door. He stood, snatching his dagger from his boot and opening the door to his own room. His loft above the first floor faced the door, and his eyes instantly landed on the intruder, their outline illuminated by a crash of lightning outside. "Shit," he breathed, his dagger clattering to the hard wood below, and he descended from the loft as quickly as he could manage. With a deep chuckle, the figure slumped heavily against the door, "A warm welcome if I ever heard one," the feminine voice was emphasized with a deep groan of pain, a heavy pack slipping from her shoulders to the floor with a loud thud. The sound of dripping that began was not from the rain outside, as it stained the wood below.

With the flick of a fire bolt spell, the hearth erupted with light. The sudden brightness made the red blood dripping from her stomach shine with renewed color. Her arm secured around her center, she panted and coughed. Faldir fearfully went to lift her, but her harsh growl and snap of her teeth forced him to merely guide her to the nearest chair by the fire. "What happened?" he found himself asking as he quickly dashed to his shelf of potions. She leaned her head back, long horns coming to rest against the wall and providing a headrest of sorts, "Thieves," she muttered. Her lips formed a scowl and she increased pressure on her large wound. Her beige skin was drenched in the color of red, the other wounds littering her body having already scabbed over, and it could be assumed they were somewhat older.

He returned with bandages and healing potions, kneeling beside her to have better access to the wound. She raised her head and grabbed a potion immediately, fangs digging the cork out as she chugged the contents of the bottle. "Easy," he told her from her movements, beginning to wrap the wound in strips of fabric. "I'll live," she grinned, though pain still twisted her maw. The dried and new blood coated her thin, tribal armor, almost making her deep brown scales vanish beneath the color. "I hope so," Faldir commented grimly, inspecting the wrapped wound to ensure it would be ok, "The wound is deep." She shook her head dismissively at his words, reaching her hand out to grab another bottle from him. Her arm bumped his face and shoulder, and he rolled his eyes at her vague swipes, pressing a bottle into her palm.

"V'Toru," she began, taking a drink from the bottle. Before she could continue, he nodded, setting aside a few blood soaked rags with which he had cleaned her wound, "She's in bed at this hour." She let a heavy sigh escape her, relief seeming to relax her every tense muscle. He raised a brow, but did not question her reaction, beginning to focus on her smaller wounds. "These are the worst bindings I've ever seen," he scolded her, peeling off a few of the leather strips holding wounds closed. She grinned, but made no answer, again reclining her head back. As if it were a regular routine, the silence stretched and his hands worked quickly to seal as many wounds as he could. "Yilari?" he questioned softly, noticing that no further movements came from her.

Fear gripped his heart, and he laid a hand on her shoulder, before he noticed her chest rising and falling gently, if unevenly, and she made a small, tired humming noise in bleary acknowledgement. Her exhaustion was evident on her scarred face, and he contemplated letting her be. They had healing potions and the wounds were not an immediate danger, but neither of them were healers. He shook his head. He could confront her about it in the morning. He stood from his position on the floor, brushing off his trousers briefly before a small movement caught his eyes. The door to the girls' room was open, and the child half-hid in the doorway, yawning. "V'Toru," he acknowledged her, "What're you doing awake?" he moved forward, hoping that she had not seen the bloody scene.

She rubbed an eye, gripping her arm around a poorly-made hay doll. "I heard something, uncle," she mumbled, giving a small tilt of her head to see around him with half-lidded eyes. "Go back to bed," he told her, moving to take hold of her. Her eyes widened at the sight of her mothers' pack still at the door, "Mommy's back?" she asked, her excitement growing evident in her face. "Hush," he admonished, putting a finger to his lips, "She needs her rest. You'll see her in the morning," he persuaded as best he could, not knowing how she would react to her mother being in the condition she was. V'Toru pouted, crossing the hay doll between her arms, "But," she began, but Faldir hushed her again and ushered her back into her room.

"Let her be," Yilari's voice called from the hearth, surprising Faldir to the point that he jumped. He turned to rebut, but the girl had already rushed passed him with a laugh. V'Toru stopped, her eyes almost popping out of her skull as she saw the red that tinted her mother's armor and the bandages that almost covered her. Yilari lowered her head, a smile forming as she turned her head from one direction to the next. "Mommy, what.." the girl inched forward, her hand trembling with the urge to touch her mother, but fear holding her back. Her mothers' gaze found her, and the comforting smile took effect and the fear in V'Toru's expression faded ever so slightly.

V'Toru moved to her mother's side, reaching for the arm laying across her middle. At the touch of her fingers, Yilari opened her palm and took her daughter's hand within her own. "I missed you," V'Toru muttered, nuzzling her face into her mother's bosom and closing her eyes. Yilari held back a pained noise, but none the less smiled wide, "And I you, my darling," she returned. V'Toru lifted her head, and carefully met her forehead to that of her mothers'. Faldir shifted awkwardly at the touchy-feely moment, and reached to grab the nearby bucket of bloody cloths, moving to dispose of them outside in the rain and let them have their moment.

Yilari pulled away briefly to kiss the feathers beginning to sprout from V'Toru's head, briefly inhaling the scent of her scales. "Mother," her child began, "You'll be ok, won't you?" worry was rife in her little voice. "My child, I will never leave you," Yilari assured, punctuating her words with another kiss to the child's nose, "As long as you breathe, I will be here to guide you." V'Toru stared into the empty blue voids of her mothers' eyes, as if searching for something in the promise. The empty eyes would provide nothing, as they always had, and V'Toru frowned, her expression becoming a pleading one.

"Promise me, mother?"

"I promise."

* * *

The snow flittered gently through the frigid air, the ground entirely covered in undisturbed white. An armored hand brushed some of the whiteness from atop the stone set in the emptiness. The peak looked over the hold of Windhelm, high in the mists and flurries of snow. The air was thin, but still the figure knelt before one of two stone slabs firmly sunk in the earth, and heaved a heavy sigh. The Elven armor gleamed a bright gold, standing out from the whiteness. The figure held between her hands a strange helm that was set upon the grave before her. She ran a hand through her puff of brown feathers, curved horns chipped and worn. Snow fell upon her scales, and she brushed the flakes from the tinted purple scales on the tip of her nose.

A tear ran from her yellow eyes, and she caressed the headstone of her current interest with the tip of her claws. The words etched in the stone were still clear, though the winds had begun to wear them ever so slightly. She turned to the small satchel on the side of her armor, and pulled forth carefully saved Nightshade blooms, setting them near her helm. "Sorry you couldn't be buried in a better place," she apologized, more tears streaking from her eyes, "But maybe this will make up for it," her voice cracked, and she roughly wiped the tears from her face. She was silent for moments more, and the cold bit at her and if she strayed too long she would lose feeling in her limbs.

She placed a hand on the helm, and she opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat and she knew she couldn't speak further without breaking down like a child. Withered flowers were scattered and buried in snow around the two graves, almost covering the entirety of them. The helmet she had placed on the second was the first alternate object there, and its place amongst the deadly purple flowers almost seemed perfect. The white, bone-made helmet sunk a bit in the snow, two pairs of horns jutting from it, one pair off the side, and one pair off the back. "My first kill," she mustered, pushing off her knees and to her feet, "From the summit of Mount Anthor."

She watched the snow begin to collect on top of the helm, waiting, and for just a moment she closed her eyes. "I should have made you promise, too," she breathed into the wind, and after just a moment's pause, as if in response, a strong yet gentle wind ghosted over her. She gave a deep, grim chuckle, opening her eyes. The grave still stood, buried in Nightshade and snow, and the helm still rested, unmoved. She shook her head, not knowing what else she expected. Turning her back to the two graves, she moved toward the questionable rocks around the peak, leaping over them one by one. They stood ominously, covering the glorious peak from the view of others, and any other being would not have dared to climb them. With a strong grunt, she leapt from the high rocks, rolling onto a smooth patch of snow.

She let out a ragged breath, her veins becoming alight with her movement after being still in the cold. One wrong jump, and she would be barreling down the cliff side. It was that adrenaline that reminded her that while some lie frozen in the ground, remnants of a lost past, she had blood coursing through her, feeding her newfound warmth and ensuring that her destiny lie ahead, yet to be attained. A particularly harsh jump had her gritting her teeth as she made impact onto the little-used path, her horse rearing up in surprise. She rose, taking hold of the reigns and calming the stallion with a hand on its withers. The horse snorted, panting, and she loosened a securing tie from its saddle. From the saddle she removed her own piece of armor that she had left for the climb. With heavy hands she placed it over her head, her horns fitting almost perfectly in the grooves on the side.

The snout of the skull fit over her own without any discomfort, as if it was meant to be an exoskeleton for her and her alone. It was as if she was filling into a pre-determined destiny. She took hold of the horse's saddle, pulling herself onto the great beast. Her back straightened in a proud air, that of a strong warrior, and her form showed just how tough and muscled she truly was. "Walk on, Spera," she ordered firmly, giving the horse a gentle prod of her heel, and the beast started forward. She glanced back toward the peak as it began to vanish from sight, the winding path putting more rocks in her view. A hand went to the snout of her helmet, and she gave a respectful nod of her head. She couldn't waste much more time with this. There were caves, unexplored ruins, and more adventures awaiting her. And she could not let her past grief overtake her promising future.


End file.
